Never Be Mine
by kirana44
Summary: "I'd like to think that you're happy, here with me. Happier and safer with me, and not with Finn, or Sam or that Dalton boy…Because you've never noticed just how smoking hot you are." One-sided Kurtcedes, hints of Klaine, oneshot monologue.


**Author's Note: **So while my sister and her awesome Boyf make out on the sofa, I lock myself in my room and write this. OMG I'M SUCH AN EMO CHILD.

A proper Glee fic, this is my idea of a Kurtcedes/Blaine love triangle. Because let's be honest, if Kurt really was how Mercedes thought he was in episode 3 - a straight guy who just happens to be into fashion and dressig nicely - then they would make the most badass couple EVER. And if I were ever in the mood to completely defy canon, I would love to do a fic where Kurt decides to follow the trope of "If it's you, it's okay". Klaine, however, is one of my glee OTP's, because COME ON. How obvious can it be?

I've been listening to far too much Kate Bush lately (mostly because I got two of her albums for Christmas, and I managed to find one of hers that I hadn't heard before whilst looking through the family CD rack for Madonna's Greatest Hits), and so I based this on her song "Never Be Mine", a song which is effectively THE STORY OF MY FRIGGING LIFE. Look it up if you have the time.

Unfortunatly, the over-listening of this song and writing this fic has made me feel really low today. I need to liisten to some Bentley Jones, have some tea and cheer the hell up.

And PLEASE REVIEW, GUYS. I like those things.

Mercedes, Kurt and Blaine all belong to whoever wrote glee (it's far too late at night for me to still be up, so I can't think very well right now). Never Be Mine, as a song, belongs to the GENRE DEFYING GENIUS known as Kate Bush.

* * *

We walk side by side down the halls every day, arm in arm, the gossip flowing between us, never stopping. I'd like to think that you're happy, here with me. Happier and safer with me, and not with Finn, or Sam or Dalton boy…Blaine, I seem to remember (you talk about him enough for me to remember, but sometimes I'd love to forget he exists). Your arm is so damn warm, and when you laugh at my fabulously sharp one-liners, I briefly catch your scent, and it makes my knees go weak. Hairspray, coconut, vanilla and jasmine. Do you know how nice that is? Did you know how, every time I fix my hair or wash my hands in that stuff you got me, I can smell a fragment of you, and I just about die? I doubt it. Because, see, here's the thing: You've never noticed just how smoking hot you are. I think it's a common thing, really. A lot of people can't see themselves clearly, but hell, normally you can. Which is why I can never get how you never notice how I smile just a bit brighter with you here, holding my arm almost possessively. You're smiling and laughing and I love that sound more than you could possibly realise, but then it's time to split up and go to class, and you let go. You give me a brief kiss on the cheek and you smile once more at me, and you aren't looking at me anymore when I grip my now-freezing arm. And you don't notice how alone I suddenly am, because hey, I'm your bestie. And for once in your life, you are so completely blind that I could cry from the irony.

I've always thought of you as a person who could see into the heart of everything. You see things other people can't; you can tell when Mr Schue is pissed, you can see the point of a Glee assignment long before it's mentioned, and you can tell when it's time to stop chatting and to get the hell out of the hallway and away from the lockers. You can read people like books, Kurt, but sometimes it's like you're even ignoring the covers. I remember how completely flabbergasted you looked when I told you, with as much sass as I could muster at the time, "Well, you just busted my heart." I remember how you'd look at Finn – dumbass, sweet-as-hell and completely oblivious to everything Finn Hudson – with such unashamed affection, somehow not getting the point that he was straight. He was straight, and it's just like how things were between you and me, except HE was the one who'd never return those feeling you had. Being honest, if the rest of his life wasn't so shit, I'd have loved to have been him, just so I could feel those eyes of yours smouldering for me.

Sometimes, being with you is like a dream. Paradise, you know, because I still can't get over how pretty you are. I wasn't lying to Tina and Rachel when I'd told them that I love how I feel around you. Like I can reflect your own beauty back at everyone else, and they'll see me for the stunning beauty that I suddenly feel like. Sort of like everything is all right with the world and nothing can make me happier than you smile and your laugh. You'd hold my arm and I'd revel in its warmth (the warmth of friendship, not romance) and we chat about which boys we think are cute (and I'm not jealous at all) and how Finn and Rachel are so _obviously _going to get back together (they always do) and I'm having so much _fun_, and I can't believe someone as amazing as you are actually exists. I feel just so fortunate to be able to speak to you on these kinds of terms, because before you and Glee club, I was so completely alone, and you're such a private person that I never would have thought you'd let me see anything beneath the surface. But you do, you're with me, you're my best friend – my boy, even – I love you like I love Quinn and that's enough for me. Some days.

Other times, it's just hurtful. _You're _just hurtful, and you never realise. Your arm is linked with mine, like usual, but you feel cold to me, affectionless, because I know that it's a friendly gesture, not a romantic one. I feel too big next to you, too plain, not pretty enough to make you think twice about me, about even _considering _me. Because it hurts seeing you throw yourself at boys who will never like you back, and it hurts even more now that you've found someone who will. Because I'm your best friend, and we talk about boys all the time, and I'm supposed to be _happy _for you, and I can't help but think what a terrible person I am when I fake that smile, and I just feel like arm-linking and cheek kisses just aren't enough. They'd never be enough, and I hate myself for being so stupid and outright _unfair _to you. You don't deserve me acting like this with you, your life is complicated enough.

And then there are days like today, when I can sort of pretend. I can pretend that you're just holding my hand because you're too scared to say that you love me, and that when your eyes light up as we talk, it's because I'm so dazzlingly beautiful to you and not because you're talking about your date with that Blaine boy (see, I knew that name was in there somewhere). And that goodbye kiss you just gave me, on days like this, could fool me so badly that later, in the safety of my room, I almost cry from embarrassment (because you are, as Brittany put it, capital-G gay. I'm being delusional). And I walk away from you, and I sigh a happy sigh, and I can't help but look back at you over my shoulder. But that's always when the delusions crash around me, because I see that me not being with you hasn't made you any sadder. My absence doesn't matter because you're about to have Spanish with Brittany and Finn, or English with Artie, and you're just as happy with them as you are with me. You're happy with me, but you're happy without me, too.

And then I see just how overjoyed you are when you're with him. I hate to admit it, but this Blaine kid really brings out the best in you, white boy. In my heart of all hearts, I know he's the perfect match for you. He gives you what I can't, you see. When you're upset, all I can do is sympathise and cheer you up. He goes one better: he can console you and advise you. As much as I care about you, and as well as I know you, I can't do that, Kurt. As much as I love you, this steaming mug of hot chocolate just ain't your type (or gender, for that matter). Because he looks at you like you're an angel, or something only he can protect. He looks at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen (and I suppose you are), and I know you see that and you love it. You can see how much he adores you, and it's so painfully obvious that you like him the same way. Every time his name is mentioned, your eyes glitter, and you seem to have more life in you than before. And as sexy and close to you as I know I am, I just know that through your eyes, he's sexier, kinder, more special…_better _than I'll ever be. And I hate that I'm jealous of that, because he seems like a great guy, and you deserve him. He's the type of guy who'd give you epic romance, and I know you've been waiting for that for far too long. You really deserve someone like him, not me.

It's time for Glee club now, and I see you heading towards the seat in between me and Quinn. Quinn was the one who got it into my head that you were a good catch, but she's now the one telling me to get a grip and focus on reality. I love her and all, but sometimes I feel like screaming at her _Yeah, you can talk, miss perfect white girl. _Despite her scandal, she still has the pick of the litter, while I get nothing. And sometimes, that really hurts too. But then you sit next to me, and that coy smile is on your face, and I forget everything because everything's suddenly alright with the world. I guess today's going to be a good day, because for a while, I sort of forget that I'm in love with you and we're just such great friends…but then the bell goes, and I walk you to your car…and your arm is linked with mine. And all of a sudden, I want to cry because I know those arms will never hold me the way I want them to, because you, Kurt Hummel, will never be mine. And I've just got to suck it up and get over myself.


End file.
